


Buenos amigos

by anathemadebice



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, No actual sex, Not Canon Compliant, a little bit, after party- no route chosen, and then it evolved into whatever tf this is, anyways they are both very stupid, beta read by an idiot, brutal abuse of the word soft, i absolutely wrote most of this while drunk please look aWAY, it was supposed to be legit pwp, mc isn't gendered, miss beta if you see this your commentary helped a lot, no abs seven society has progressed past the need for abs seven, overly descriptive writing, pwp (plot without porn), rated for mentions of sex, seven does NOT have abs he has a little BELLY, she is not but i was forced to write this at gun point, spoilers for seven's real name, unless you consider high heels an indication of gender, very minor like blink and you'll miss it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24609565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathemadebice/pseuds/anathemadebice
Summary: "“Would you like a drink before you go? I just restocked on Ph.D. Pepper.” You were already grabbing a can from the fridge and giving it to him before he even replied with a quick, flustered nod. You only started buying them after his visits became a regular thing, yet another thing neither of you would acknowledge."
Relationships: 707 | Choi Luciel/Main Character, 707 | Choi Luciel/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 101





	Buenos amigos

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first actual work in the mysme fandom and i am not great at reader inserts, so any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated! it says it in the tags but if you read all of those i would be shocked, so this is NOT canon compliant! it is set after the party, but if you didn't fall into any route, so mc hasn't met [spoilers] or heard anything about [spoilers]  
> enjoy!~  
> (the title is from a selena quintanilla song stream her music for clear skin)

Your agreement with Seven worked. Well, calling it an agreement may be generous, since you hadn’t exactly agreed on anything, not explicitly. Whatever it was that you had was too fragile to discuss, and both of you carefully skirted around the topic, not wanting things to end if you weren’t on the same page.

You remembered how it started, only a few weeks ago. Seven had offered you a ride back from the party, waving Jumin off when he had offered up Driver Kim, and you had eagerly accepted his offer, looking forward to not walking the almost five kilometres back to the flat on the heels you had been regretting for hours now. The ride had been surprisingly silent, considering who your driver was, but you relaxed against the seat while Seven focused on the road, mind drifting to the party and how well it had gone, making mental notes to meet with Jumin and Jaehee to arrange some thank you gifts to all the guests. Maybe not flowers or gift baskets, that was cliché. But cliché worked, didn’t it? You felt eyes on you, and looked to the left to find that Seven kept looking at you out of the corner of his eye, still focusing on the road but looking decidedly amused at the muttering you hadn’t realised was very loud in the otherwise silent car. You stuck your tongue out, finally getting a laugh out of him before settling back on the seat, unreasonably pleased with yourself. You got home soon after that, and a glance back at him to say goodbye and thank him for the ride turned into a stare as you noticed his heavy, slow blinking and slack grip on the steering wheel.

“How far away from here do you live, Seven?” you asked, frowning as he blinked at you several times before he seemed to process the question.

“Uh, like, an hour and a half? More or less?” he looked to you, looking only slightly put off by the question but not especially hesitant to answer it.

“Yeah, no, come on. Upstairs, you’re not driving like that and it’s late.”

His cheeks coloured slightly, and you took one look at him before what you said sunk in. You felt your own face warm up but stood your ground. You weren’t going to let him have an accident just because these four men couldn’t get their head out of the damn gutter for a single second, never mind that yours seemed to be taking a vacation there as well, now. With a sigh, you decided to compromise.

“At least let me make you some coffee, and stay for a bit to wake up, you really can’t drive like that.”

Seven kept staring at you, seeming to battle with himself for a bit before nodding, a quiet thank you escaping his little, shy (you could not believe you just used that word to describe him) smile, eyes shining with something you refused to name or even look into too much. You fought the urge to take your high heels off the second you stepped into the building, your feet killing you now that you had been sitting down for a while, and subtly leant on him, hoping against hope he wouldn’t make fun of you. But he looked at you with so much understanding and empathy in his eyes before offering you a (surprisingly strong) arm to support yourself that you suddenly remembered that Seven very much knew the pain of killing your own feet for no good reason other than societal pressure. (You quickly shoved that thought back into the corner of your mind, because you were bringing him into your house at 1am and it did not do to dwell on the image of him in that maid outfit, affrontingly soft looking thighs barely covered by the pretty skirt. And there you were, very much dwelling on it.) An arm tugging you out of the lift quickly brought you back to a reality were those thighs were covered and you cleared your throat before looking away from them in embarrassment. If he noticed you had been staring, he didn’t say anything.

You quickly dragged him along once you saw your door, already dreaming of taking the damn shoes off and completely missing the flustered look your eagerness received. You were barely through the door before you kicked them away with a violence that tore a loud laugh out of Seven, a laugh that turned into a choked off cough at the sound you made when you put your bare feet on the cool floor. After a second, you begrudgingly put your slippers on before offering a pair of spare ones to Seven and motioning for him to follow you to the kitchen. He trailed after you, raising a loosely closed fist to rub at his eye, and you bit down a coo and sped up, eager to get some coffee into him, because really, how dare he. You quickly started the coffee maker and turned to Seven, who smiled at you before giving a longing glance to the couch. You smiled back, and shooed him off, seeing him drag his feet before pretty much collapsing on it, though he did seem to be trying to maintain some politeness, because he kept himself (mostly) upright. You hurriedly served two cups of coffee and took them to the living room, offering one to him and looking on in horror as he pretty much downed the boiling hot coffee and held the cup out to you, giving you a hopeful look and then a grateful smile when you took his cup and went off to refill it.

“Here. Drink this slowly, please, I made it strong. I’m just. I’m going to get changed, I’ll be right back.”

You made quick work of putting your (least ugly) pyjamas on and washing your face, and went out to find your guest nursing a cup of coffee that looked suspiciously different to the one you had made him, and prayed to whoever was listening that was only his third cup. He did look more awake, so small victories, you guessed. You took a seat next to him on the sofa, debating whether or not to make yourself comfortable before deciding that this was (for now) your house and your sofa, and bringing your legs up to tuck yourself under a blanket. After you were done, you offered one corner of the blanket to Seven, who took it gratefully and tried to cover himself with it, scooting over when he saw that he was just too far for that to work. You barely reacted, happy for the company, and chatted easily about the party, cats, the merits of making a cat robot and the logistics of it (well, Seven talked about it, and you let him go on his caffeine and sugar-fuelled rant while fully ignoring the fact that the whole point of him being here was for him to wake up, and he very much had). At one point, you kind of tuned his technical talk out, genuinely interested but too tired to keep up with the lightning fast robotics tirade he had launched on. You let your mind drift off to nothing in particular, his excited voice somehow soothing you. Your head followed suit, dropping onto his shoulder without your prompting or permission (and look at that, you were practically sitting on his lap now, when had that happened?). Seven stopped, looking down at you guiltily with an apology ready on his lips, he knew he could be a lot sometimes and something about night-time made him be a bit more subdued about it, but he paused, your serene smile and undoubtedly fond eyes trapping him in place and making him forget whatever it was that he was going to say. You flushed as he leant down slowly and paused, eyes searching yours in a silent question. Before you could overthink it, you nodded quickly, and threw yourself into the kiss with an enthusiasm that would have given pause to many, but Seven matched your pace plus some, and after a while you were dragging him to your bedroom after giving him your own questioning look he hurriedly nodded to.

And well, thanks to the coffee, he did have a lot of energy to burn off.

~~~~~

You didn’t talk about it. There was nothing to talk about, really, you were friends, and this was convenient. Seven kept finding excuses to come over, and you kept pretending you believed them, sometimes making your own excuses to get him over (you had downloaded a literal virus and then called him. You both pretended he could not fix it remotely and he absolutely had to come over).

You were awoken from your daydreaming by a knock on your door, and you pretty much sprinted to open it, recognizing that particular knock immediately, because Seven was a dork and apparently so were you. You cleared your throat and entertained fixing your hair for a second before snorting at yourself and opening the door, honey eyes immediately meeting yours and crinkling as their owner smiled brightly at you, before opening his mouth and letting out a very nonchalant:

“Hey, do you have any salt?”

You blinked at him once. Twice. He lived a 90 minute drive away from you. You smiled.

“Yeah, I got salt. Come in.” 

Seven trailed after you to the kitchen, where you took a small pack of salt and threw it lightly at him, relishing the way his attention snapped from you to the projectile, hands shooting up to catch it before he realized what you had done, and he held it close to him as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. You decided to throw him a bone, he had just driven all the way here after all.

“Would you like a drink before you go? I just restocked on Ph.D. Pepper.” You were already grabbing a can from the fridge and giving it to him before he even replied with a quick, flustered nod. You only started buying them after his visits became a regular thing, yet another thing neither of you would acknowledge.

He gratefully took it from you, once again trailing after you like a lost puppy, fiddling with his can when he sat down next to you (some may say unnecessarily close) and looking between his feet and somewhere in the vicinity of your nose (he seemed to keep trying to make eye contact, only to regret it at the last minute). You fidgeted with your can for a bit, because somehow this was still awkward at first, and suddenly lit up while reaching for your phone. Seven eyed you curiously as you opened the gallery and started scrolling through the albums. He started at your victorious “Ha!” as you proudly scooted over closer and angled the phone towards him. He grinned when he realised what you were showing him (a folder you had proudly named “Nyah~” and promptly filled with every cat video you came across after your third awkward meeting with Seven.)

“I have new ones!” you said excitedly, and his responding grin was bright and genuine and barely faltered when you swung a leg over his lap to press your front flush against his side (for comfort!). You thanked the icebreaking power of cats when Seven absentmindedly put his arm around you, his attention already on the cat with a loaf of bread on its face, but you found yourself unable to focus on the phone, your brain’s undivided attention on the patterns he was slowly and lazily tracing on your bare shoulder. You said nothing, and continued scrolling through the videos.

After watching every single video your folder had to offer (it was a tradition to watch the old ones too, at this point), you just kept talking for a bit, a comfortable, quiet part of your routine. None of you moved from your sitting positions until you leant back to take a drink from your can of Ph. D. Pepper. When you returned to your original position, Seven’s arm fell around you again, giving you a small squeeze. You looked up at him, finding his gaze already on yours, inquisitive but still shy. You returned your own questioning squeeze with the leg still around him, searching his eyes. You got a small but decisive nod, and you abandoned all pretences as he switched his hands to your hips to help you swing yourself onto his lap and his mouth went straight to cover yours.  
He forgot the salt when he left.

~~~~~~~~

Consciousness came slowly, the first rays of sun filtering through the blinds and warming your bare skin. You awakened gradually, your sluggish mind trying to catalogue the sensations around you. You first noticed how hot you were, not quite to the point of it being unpleasant, but definitely enough to stick a leg out from underneath the blanket. As you did just that, you noticed your leg was resting on a warm, chubby stomach, and you pressed yourself a bit more firmly against the comfortingly familiar body you seemed to have latched onto, your ankle trapping soft and supple thighs in place, and you sighed, still groggy but content. Strong arms were wrapped around you, and calloused, nimble fingers were lazily tracing patterns against your back while their owner waited patiently for you to fully wake up. Your scattered brain managed to recognize a heart, a cat, a sun, another heart, and, on one occasion, what you thought were the letters SYC, promptly followed by another little heart before the patterns turned random. You melted onto him, your cheek nuzzling his chest once before you stilled again, relishing the firm but still fairly giving flesh and the steady heartbeat underneath. It almost put you to sleep again, so you struggled to open your eyes and turned to rest on your chin instead, taking long, slow blinks and studying Seven. He seemed fully awake, but more relaxed and at ease than you had ever seen him look. A fond little smile appeared on his face, and he gave your nose a little flick. You sleepily batted his hand away, and his body shook under yours with a deep, genuine laugh. He raised his hands in surrender, before cupping your face in them and giving you a loud forehead kiss. You indulged him, knowing he was trying to be annoying so you would get up but too comfortable to care.

“Come on,” he pouted, poking your cheek softly “I will make you breakfast if you get up!”

You gave him an unimpressed look.

“Last time you “made me breakfast” you just put some chips on a slice of toast and poured me an entire PhD Pepper into a mug.”

“Okay, I will make you coffee? Tea?”

You perked up at that. For how atrocious he was at anything including making any sort of food, he was disturbingly good at making hot drinks. The responding smile to you shuffling off the bed lit up his entire face, and you grumbled half-heartedly for a full second before smiling back. You snatched his hoodie off the floor before he could reach it and put it on, running away from the room while he loudly complained about the city being crawling with thieves. You washed your face while Seven came into the bathroom, now wearing his shirt and boxers (where did he find underwear with cats in space on it and where could you buy it), and he washed his face while you grabbed your toothbrush. He extended a finger towards you, and you put toothpaste on it before setting it down. You brushed your teeth next to each other with practiced ease, humming a song back and forth while you did. You followed him to the kitchen, and you fell into your usual rhythm. He started brewing a pot of coffee, you cut some bread and popped it in the toaster, he got butter out of the fridge, you chopped up some fruit (you had quickly learned not to let him do it, he was awful at it). He spooned yoghurt onto two bowls, and you leaned over to him with a bottle of honey already in hand, placing it on his expectant one before organizing the fruit into two equally sized piles, passing it over to him and going to retrieve the toast. He set the bowls and butter on the table while you got the milk out and set it next to the coffee pot, and he gently bumped your hip with his when you walked past him with the plate of toast. You sat and watched him pour the coffee while you spread a generous amount of butter on a piece of toast, putting it on a napkin and sliding it next to his breakfast, and he put your coffee down in front of you while you worked on your own piece, kissing the top of your head in gratitude. You smiled at him, eagerly taking the mug and taking a long sip, humming appreciatively. You ate in silence, Seven was always quiet in the mornings, and you found yourself quite taken with the many sides of Luciel Choi. Taken with curiosity, of course! Obviously, you didn’t expect him to be his joking, chaotic persona 24/7, especially because the more you looked at it, the more unauthentic it seemed, but it was almost like you were looking at two different people. The Luciel that exploited Yoosung’s seemingly never-ending innocence, the Luciel that flirted constantly with Zen in a (very successful) attempt to rile him up, the Luciel that bothered Jaehee incessantly, the Luciel that only called Elizabeth the Third “Elly” now because he knew it made Jumin lose his otherwise unbreakable patience and composed front; that was the same Luciel that made sure to apologize to Yoosung when he took it too far, not always with words, but always making his intent plainly obvious, who made sure to help Zen gain more followers and exposure in every moment of free time he had, who dragged Jaehee off to eat under the guise of a “business meeting” that never actually happened (he once made her laugh so hard she snorted, and the way he lit up when she did made her forget to tell him off for taking her away from work and forcing her to have a healthy meal), the same Luciel who was always looking out for C&R, even if he would never admit to it. The same Luciel who kept a constant eye on the RFA so nothing would happen to them, who rushed to help and fix problems in such an underhanded way that he never got a thanks, if only because he never let it be known that he did, in fact, help them all. You felt a rush of affection for this ridiculous, hardworking, caring man, a rush so strong that it threatened to bowl you over when you stood up, following him to the kitchen where he was washing the dishes, humming a silly little tune to himself, and you stared at him, at his hands handling everything with the subtle sort of grace he seemed to possess in these quiet moments; at his expression, open and soft and utterly content, not quite happy but looking like it could get there. You listened to the tune and you suddenly recognized the song: you had dragged the RFA to a karaoke bar a couple weeks ago (you had only dragged Jumin there, Seven and Yoosung were happy to go out somewhere with the whole group, Zen wanted to sing, Jaehee wanted to listen), and at some (blurry) point of the night, in an effort to get Seven to stop throwing uneasy glances and squaring his shoulders defensively at the very loud, very drunk middle-aged woman sitting at the table next to yours, you (quite buzzed yourself) had grabbed his hand (missing the way his alarmed but calculating eyes had been turned from the woman to you, and the way he relaxed when he realised who was touching him) and dragged him to the stage, picking the first song you knew and handing him a mic, trying to look firm. Whatever you did must have worked, because with only a fond chuckle, Seven took the mic and nodded at you to start. You smiled at the memory of his frankly great (if extremely theatrical) singing, remembering Yoosung’s excited face, Zen’s offended gaping, Jaehee’s inquisitive stare that she followed by a thumbs up and a glint in her eye you didn’t want explained, Jumin’s polite clapping and pleased expression. The RFA loved him as much as he did them, and the reminder made your heart feel full and then sink.

You are not an idiot. You had always known that your feelings for Luciel were not strictly platonic, but after months of calling it affection and pretending, you were faced with the truth in a way you couldn’t excuse away anymore. You were in love with him, you had been for a while now. Deciding to just take the plunge (you knew him very well at this point. You knew his friendship was not one easily lost, and everything would be okay. Whatever his answer was) you threw yourself into his arms as he turned around, shaking the water off his hands. He grunted quietly, but his arms automatically went around you as one hand went to pat your head, cooing gently and trying to look at you. You buried your face further into his chest, not wanting to face him just yet, and, realising this, he just hugged you back, continuing his humming and swaying lightly from side to side. You listened to his steady heartbeat, and then you listened some more, and finally, you took a deep breath and spoke, softly, hesitantly.

“Luciel,” he tensed, the use of his real name in this context putting him on alert “no, no, listen. We need to talk. It’s nothing bad.”

He seemed to catch your hesitant tone on the last sentence, and he nodded stiffly, hands still gentle as he guided you to the kitchen table, and he hesitated for only a second before taking the seat next to you. He looked patiently at you, his pointer finger tapping quickly on the table being the only tell that he was nervous. You fiddled with your hands, trying to think of what to say, how to word this carefully but still make him understand. You hear him take a steadying breath and feel his hands take yours and give them a reassuring squeeze. Your eyes shoot to his, and seeing the beautiful golden shining with concern and (still well-disguised) mild alarm seems to sever the link between your brain and your mouth, and you just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“You’re so amazing!” it comes out breathless and soft, unsure.

Seven now just looks confused and very pink. While the words and the tone aren’t new, the look in your face must be, because his eyes are searching yours. His blush deepens, and his hold on your hands tightens.

“I- What- You too! What??” he continues babbling incomprehensibly after that, and somehow, this works to put you at ease.

“What I meant to say,” you pause, and you inhale slowly, his gaze now fixed on you making you nervous again. “what I meant to say, Luciel, is that I l-“

“Saeyoung!” He cuts off. You startle, and blink at him, confused. “I… My… My name is… Saeyoung. In case you… Wanted to use that… Or something.”

You blink at him again, feeling something warm unfurl in your chest. Deciding to take that as encouragement, you start again. 

“Saeyoung.” You try the name, smiling when it makes him stand straighter, his stare back to you, his hands tightening minutely before going back to the gentle hold. “What I wanted to say was that I love you, Saeyoung.”

His face goes impossibly red, and his hands leave yours as he turns away from you, and you try your best to breathe through it all, because the way he buries his face in his hands and the defeated air around him doesn’t feel very encouraging. He seems to be fighting with himself, going to turn towards you before shaking his head, going to turn away before seemingly being unable to. Eventually, all the fighting seems to leave him, and he lets himself collapse on top of you, burying his head under your neck. You wrap your arms around him, cautiously optimistic but mostly worried about him. Your fingers find their way to his hair, and he melts against your body as you slowly and gently play with it, not quite knowing what to say. In the end, he’s the one to break the silence, with a reluctant “I shouldn’t”. Your hand stops for a second before continuing, knowing that he’s not done speaking.

“I shouldn’t. It’s dangerous. The risk I would put you in-“

“is the same risk I have already been taking.”

He looks at you.

“Saeyoung. I have been to your house. Vanderwood has been to your house while I was there. He knows. And I know the risks, I am not stupid. I know what your job entails, even if I don’t know all the details. I know all of this, and I still love you. But I will respect any decision you make.”

You don’t have time to process the defeated noise he makes before he takes your face in his hands and softly, hesitantly, presses his lips against yours. You kiss back gently, wiping the beginning of tears from his eyes. He pulls back, and you let him, but presses one, two, three close-mouthed kisses to your mouth, your nose, your forehead. He mutters a soft “I love you” between each kiss, and you bask in the moment, responding to every one of them with the same soft tone, not daring to break the stillness of the moment.

“Saeyoung.” He looks at you, eyes soft and tender and open, and you wonder how you could hold it in for so long. “We can figure it out.”

He averts his gaze, starting to look doubtful again. You grab his face tenderly, and guide it back towards yours. You rest your forehead against his, and his eyes flutter closed when he relaxes in your hold.

“We can figure it out. Together. I love you.”

He sighs, but the sigh sounds resigned and loving, and you relax.

“We… We can figure it out.” He presses another soft peck to your lips. “I love you too.”

You can figure it out. You have all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! once again, constructive criticism would be extremely appreciated! if you want to scream about mysme with me my twitter is @anathemadetwice  
> hope you enjoyed and have a great day!


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